A Different Point of View
by Music596
Summary: We all know what happenes at the barricade, but have you ever considered the National Guard's point of view? T to be safe


This is my first ever Les Mis fanfiction, so sorry if every detail isn't perfect, but I tried. Criticism is appreciated. I also must thank Mlle Patria with helping me with some of the details and being my research buddy! This would not have happened without you!

Disclaimer: I don't own this and am not getting paid.

A Different Point of View

Julien stood at attention, but his eyes kept wandering to the grapeshot gunner. Marc looked over at him, his face serious as always, and nodded. Marc had an intelligent face, fair skinned and beautiful. Julien and Marc had been best friends since the moment they were born. Marc was a strong man, serious. Everything he did, he did for France. He was often teased for not showing interest in women, or a lover at all. He would reply seriously, "I already found my mate, for France is all the lover I need," His love for her was more than anything Julien had ever seen. For this reason, Marc joined the National Guard. Julien did so shortly after. He did everything Marc did because he was worried that someday Marc's love for France would get him in trouble. By the looks of it, it already had, only Julien had gotten caught too. One comfort to Julien was that his sergeant didn't want to use the grapeshot, so Marc would be out of harms way. The order was given to march and Julien's feet moved of their own accord. With every step he took Julien found his mind stepped away from Marc and toward his wife. She was seven months pregnant with their first child. Julien prayed; he prayed to return to her.

"Halt!" came the shout from his sergeant. Julien did so, and the moment he stopped moving he realized how nervous he was. Julien had never been in a battle before, even a minor one like this. "School boys pretending to be men," was the exact quote from his sergeant. Julien came back to reality and realized they were standing before the barricade. It was tall, taller than he had expected. Maybe they were men after all. Time seemed to stand still to Julien, and then he heard it, the first gunfire. Until the day he died, Julien would never remember who fired the first shot. Soon, the shout of "Fire!" rang out into the muggy air. Julien raised his gun and fired, but his first shot had no impact. Nor did his second, third, or fourth have any impact. Julien saw that the barricade was too strong, and soon, so did his sergeant. The next order shot terror through Julien.

"Grapeshot!"

Julien turned to see Marc rolling the gun forward, his light brown hair falling in front of his determined eyes. Julien then saw the grapeshot being prepared, with no protection from the men at the barricades. With no more than a grimace Julien ran over to the fair gunner and stood next to him. Marc turned to him, "You should be with your brothers!" he hissed, speaking of the men waiting for their next orders.

Julien, without his eyes leaving the barricade, replied, "I am with my brother, and I will protect him with my last breath, as he protects his country." Marc heard a determination in Julien's voice that he had never heard before. He respected it.

"Very well," was all he said. Julien stood watch as Marc fired the first shot. There was a shout and men duck. But a few didn't duck quickly enough and the grapeshot did its job. Those men died.

One man raised his gun at Marc, and Julien raised his in retaliation. Julien pulled the trigger and the man was down. Suddenly, there was another shot, and a gasp. Julien saw another man lower his gun, Julien studied the man for a second, and he seemed to be entranced by him. He stood tall, proud of what he had done. Julien realized something, the man stood just as Marc did, strongly. There was a thud next to him, and terror shot through Julien. Julien dropped his gun and turned to Marc. He lay across the grapeshot, blood spurting from a wound in his chest and blood soaking his uniform. His fair shin had turned an even paler tone.

"Julien," Marc stuttered, blood choking him, "Vive la France." He head fell back and he was silent. Julien's eyes clouded over with rage. How dare they? He had just wanted the best for his country! Those damn school boys would pay. They would pay. Julien grabbed his gun and ran towards the barricade, a scream on his lips. Julien climbed, he shot, he killed, and when the orders came to retreat, he did so unwillingly. He couldn't remember his name. He couldn't remember his wife's face. All he could see was Marc as he died. All he could hear was his last words.

Julien saw a hunched over figure digging through bodies. There was a shot and the figured staggered but kept on. A shout came from the barricade.

"Gavroche!"

Without another thought for this "Gavroche" he raised his gun and fired. The figure collapsed into a heap. Two more men came hurtling from the barricade. As they carried the dead thing back, Julien saw who had killed. A boy. Just a boy. Julien was overcome with grief. He had killed a boy, no more than twelve. With a sob, Julien dropped his gun and started to walk away. There was more gun fire all around him, but he couldn't hear it. He almost didn't notice when a bullet caught him in the back. Julien staggered and collapsed. He felt the wetness of the blood spread across his uniform. His vision started to turn back and he started to sob, but it just came out as a chocking gasp. His last thought seems more like a prayer as there are thoughts which are prayers. There moments when whatever posture of the body, the soul is on its knees. Julien was fading fast, and his final prayer was "Marc, Gavroche, France, forgive me!"


End file.
